


for you I was a flame

by brujadelmar



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Bittersweet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 07:32:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brujadelmar/pseuds/brujadelmar
Summary: Chanyeol is no poet.





	for you I was a flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [London9Calling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/London9Calling/gifts).



> no beta'ed, 4 my beta :)

 

Chanyeol looks at the man playing the instrument with his long, soft fingers. _He’s a magician_ , Chanyeol thinks, and closes his eyes to feel the song. It’s late at night, and the wind seems to ask for forgiveness for the heat of the day. Chanyeol shivers, his head moving to the rhythm, and he inspires deeply, wishing that the cool breeze could calm his burning chest. At the end of the song, he walks slowly to the man and gives him golden coins, smiling. He hopes the man never gives up. If Chanyeol could, he would held a lute, instead of a sword; it seems to be more gratifying to make people smile instead of making them bleed. But he has no means to change his destiny anymore. Maybe one day…

He walks to the small house feeling a lot lighter, and he knocks on the door. In any other day, he would be anxious to be there; but now, it’s too late to be seen. He’s not in a hurry, because he’s not full of energy. Today his heart is filled with sadness, a habitual feeling, a constant reminder.

He hears the steps and he lets out a long breath. There are good things in this world.

“Who is it?”

Chanyeol smiles, imagining him behind the door, his big eyes inspecting, alert and serious. His voice is as beautiful as any other music in the world – and it’s not just because It’s a trained instrument too. It’s… Chanyeol’s favorite sound.

“It’s me,” Chanyeol says, the tip of his nose touching the door, smelling the wood. It’s an old, used door, but it smells like home.

Kyungsoo opens the door. His hair is wet, and he’s in his night clothes, the ones with holes in it, like he was ready to go to bed. Chanyeol opens his mouth to say something, but he feels his throat constrict. Kyungsoo sniffs him, and Chanyeol knows he’s not going to ask. Chanyeol washed himself many times before coming, but death is a lingering scent.

Kyungsoo takes him by the hand, and after days of violence, his hold feels like heaven. He takes Chanyeol to his tiny washroom, and takes off his clothes, concentrated. Kyungsoo folds the clothes and puts the coin bag over it; places them on an old wood chair in the corner. Chanyeol sits on the floor and makes no movement while Kyungsoo washes him – he wants to touch, but it’s not the right time. He closes his eyes and just feels the soft hands on him. If Chanyeol concentrates enough, he may believe he’s really fresh and new, he may feel like he was washed from all the pain, all the blood, all the screams and tears. Kyungsoo’s fingers touches his scalp gently, the cold water refreshes his body and the soap’s smell makes him dizzy. It’s his rite of passage; now, he’s no longer a warrior. As if Kyungsoo could sense it, Chanyeol feels the soft crashing of lips. It’s just a symbolic demonstration of affection, because Kyungsoo doesn’t do anything unless they’re in bed. He’s methodic, he likes the right place, the right moment.

Kyungsoo dries him off precisely. “Wait for me in bed,” he whispers. There’s no reason to be quiet, but feels right to be a bit solemn. “I’ll clean myself for you.”

It means they’ll go all the way tonight. Chanyeol wasn’t expecting it. He wants nothing but Kyungsoo’s company, most of the time. Kyungsoo is not always in the mood for touching, but sometimes he lets Chanyeol warm his bed. Chanyeol has his bad days, too. When he wants to talk his bad memories away, when he just wants to hold Kyungsoo tightly, too tired to do anything else. Kyungsoo listens patiently, accepts his embrace, his sobbing, his pain. That’s enough.

He stares at the ceiling quietly and expectantly, rubbing his hand on Kyungsoo’s soft blanket. Like everything he owns, it’s old and second-handed, but it feels like the most expensive kind compared to the ground Chanyeol has to sleep on when he’s out to prey. Chanyeol will bring another bed sheet soon, even if Kyungsoo will complain. Kyungsoo doesn’t like Chanyeol’s gifts; he gets aggressive if he finds out Chanyeol tried to help him in any way. He tends to be more kind if it’s an eccentric thing, something hard to find; or books, of course.

Before Kyungsoo kisses him, he covers Chanyeol’s new wounds with a thin white fabric. Chanyeol watches in silence. He never understood the reason people bought paintings before he saw Kyungsoo naked. Now, he thinks he would pay good money to have this image accessible to him anytime. An impossible dream, for sure. As a warrior, Chanyeol may have enough money for the painting and the place to put it on, but he has no time to sit and appreciate it. He has no ceiling to claim as his own; on his few free days of peace, he visits his sister or he stays with Kyungsoo. He is painfully aware he has no reason to take root. Every time he leaves, he keeps in his heart every detail he can memorize. Chanyeol asked Sehun, the newbie he initiated in his territory and taught how to survive in the face of the enemy – with his mind and his hands –, to take care of his belongings, just in case Chanyeol meets his destiny. There are two bags, one for his family, and other for Kyungsoo. He divided the money, his valuable things and one letter. Chanyeol is as bad in writing as he is in reading, but he said enough. He’s no poet, no artist, but…

Kyungsoo kisses his thoughts away. Chanyeol lets him do whatever he wants. He’s in no position to ask for anything; never has been, to be honest. Since he met Kyungsoo, he is grateful for every drop of affection, caress, for every second of the time they spend together. Kyungsoo is not a prostitute, not a concubine; he doesn’t own Chanyeol anything. Kyungsoo may not be rich, being an artisan, but he could have a wife and children of his own, if he wanted to. Chanyeol knows that, as a warrior, he’s not the best lover. His hands are rough, he is always carrying the weight of the dead, their smell, their curses… every time he leaves, he’s not sure if he will come back. Kyungsoo waits, but for how long?

His chest hurts and he has to focus on Kyungsoo again. He’s not in the field anymore. He has a beautiful lover kissing him, and his skilled hands are oily, touching precisely, getting them ready. The men who fight by Chanyeol’s side used to mock him. They thought it was funny that Chanyeol had a male lover. They stand next to men for weeks, months; they wanted to come home to a beautiful lady, someone soft and round, a comfort. But they changed their minds when they saw Kyungsoo. Men liked him more than women; because of that, he rejected Chanyeol’s advances many times. Chanyeol was bad at courting; all he did was follow and call Kyungsoo’s name, to bring him gifts, to annoy him to get his attention.

It was worth. Chanyeol wouldn’t survive without him. Seeing Kyungsoo like this, over him, his face showing pleasure and desperation at the same time. No sight would be more beautiful and fulfilling than Kyungsoo melting when he was rising and falling in Chanyeol, red lips and shaking thighs, too concentrate on finding release. Moments like this made Chanyeol work harder, ready to fight and survive to see his lover again. Many men like him gone crazy after a while, losing friends and family, fighting with no time to rest. Yifan warned him once, sitting under the sky full of stars, _you need to find arms to come back to, otherwise you won’t live; we will go insane if we don’t find sweetness to heal our wounds._ Yifan was the roughest man Chanyeol met, his words were like a prophecy.

Sometimes, while they’re touching each other in bed, Chanyeol is torn between listening or watching. Kyungsoo almost sings when he’s too lost in pleasure, and to hear his voice makes Chanyeol a bit more alive. The first time Chanyeol heard him singing, he remembered those fairytales his mother told him. He imagines throwing himself at the sea, drowning while listening to it. He would, no doubt, do it if Kyungsoo was a siren. It was how it feels to fall in love. Drowning, allowing himself to be invaded to the point he couldn’t breathe, lungs exploding of fullness.

“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo touches his chest. He’s dirty, he has finished already, but he’s still moving his hips with his eyes worried. He presses down pointedly, and Chanyeol lets out a heavy sigh, almost painful, trembling. He touches Kyungsoo’s thighs, his soft belly, his small waist. He doesn’t want this to end, but it does, like everything else. Kyungsoo cleans them after, and leaves Chanyeol in the bed. Chanyeol is restless now, so he walks to the window and opens it. He’s naked, but it’s raining strongly outside, so no one will see him if he stays at the corner. He wants to see the stars, but unfortunately, he can’t, so he just closes his eyes and enjoys the sound. Kyungsoo brings him the blanket, but Chanyeol holds him instead. He presses Kyungsoo tightly against him, kisses his shoulder, and feels the texture of his skin and the blanket over it.

No pain can touch him. Even in the worst conditions, life is worth living if he can have moments like this.

“It’s been too long,” Kyungsoo murmurs. It is. Too long. “Are you going to stay?”

“Five days, four nights,” Chanyeol whispers in his ear. “If you let me, of course.”

Kyungsoo nods. Chanyeol kisses his skin lazily; he enjoys the salty taste. The rain is angrier and few water drops hits them. It’s unusual to be silent like this, but they will talk later. Neither of them has deep words, but they always laugh when they’re together. A thunder lights the sky, and its noise makes Chanyeol shivers. He loves it. He loves this sort of spectacle when he’s safely appreciating, specially when he has Kyungsoo next to him.

 

 

Chanyeol wakes up early in the next day. He forces himself to leave the bed, even if hurts him to leave Kyungsoo’s warmness. He buys fresh things, vegetables, spices. Kyungsoo doesn’t complain, and Chanyeol thinks it’s because he wants to celebrate. He makes a soup, and Chanyeol watches in awe the way he prepares it. It’s sad to think that Kyungsoo’s hands can create beautiful things, while Chanyeol’s hands…

“It’s too hot,” Kyungsoo warns before Chanyeol drinks it. “Wait a minute.”

Chanyeol puts the bowl on the floor, next to them, and sits closer to Kyungsoo.

“I’m getting worried,” Kyungsoo says. Chanyeol holds him. “Have you lost your voice while you were away?”

Ah, maybe. Chanyeol screamed until he couldn’t anymore. They have lost many men this time. Chanyeol took down some enemies by himself. Their ghosts will haunt him for a while. They interrupt his words, trying to possess him.

“What happened?” Kyungsoo frowns. Chanyeol kisses him briefly, just to calm him down. Kyungsoo touches his chest again, pushing him away. “Chanyeol?”

They can’t say many things. Chanyeol can’t say when he’s coming back, if he’s coming back, what happens while he’s out. It’s pain, a violence – he hopes it never reaches Kyungsoo. Chanyeol doesn’t ask for much; he doesn’t know much of Kyungsoo’s past, or  anything about his everyday life when Chanyeol is away. They only have few time to escape. Chanyeol doesn’t want to share his wounds, doesn’t want to taint Kyungsoo with his darkness. He wants to hold him, and to love him while he can.

“Can you read to me?” Chanyeol says, finally. “A happy story.”

He knows Kyungsoo reads stories for kids. Sometimes he sings at night, and people come to their windows to hear it better. He knows Kyungsoo likes his food spicy, and in warm nights he works until late, molding vases on the open window, letting the wind dry the paint. He knows Kyungsoo likes when he’s rough when they’re under the blankets, but after they’re done, he likes to hold hands.

Kyungsoo reads Chanyeol’s favorite story. It’s about the princess kissed by the death. Her lover went to the underworld to rescue her, playing his flute, so the distracted souls wouldn’t harm him. He lays his head in Kyungsoo’s lap, and he can look up and watch him trying to read without his glasses.

One day, Sehun will knock on the door, and Kyungsoo will have to put his glasses to read Chanyeol’s letter. He can picture it. Kyungsoo, sitting like he’s now, a bag in his hand, the paper in the other. Then, and Chanyeol will be grateful to be long gone, he will see the only poem Chanyeol has ever written in his life. It’s about soft lips, gentle hands, nice voice and dark eyes.

After that, maybe Kyungsoo will have another lover; he can’t sleep alone in a cold bed forever. But Chanyeol would have done something beautiful, at least once; maybe Kyungsoo wouldn’t be mad at him for losing, for not coming back. Maybe someone, in the other side, would see it, and they would forgive Chanyeol for ending lives.

He couldn’t be that bad, after all. He loved too much.

**Author's Note:**

> hey, so I lied when I told you I was tired hahaha  
> sorry for the angst, I'm a dramallhama girl!! just my way to say thanks for being a cute beta :)  
> hope you liked...


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